


Obvious and Oblivious

by infiniteeight



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Clint gets to top, First Time, M/M, Phil gets to bottom, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-03
Updated: 2012-07-03
Packaged: 2017-11-09 03:12:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/450622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infiniteeight/pseuds/infiniteeight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint can be a little slow on the uptake, but Coulson is a patient guy. PWP, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Obvious and Oblivious

**Author's Note:**

> So, something like two months ago, I offered on Tumblr (infiniteeight8) to write prompts for people. I got two. Because I suck at writing short things and am easily distracted by new ideas, it’s taken this long to write one of them. *facepalm* my-life-as-a-bird, this one is for you. Thanks, as ever, to my beta, sweaterkittensahoy. And also to webbgirl34 for last moment assistance!

According to gossip, Clint spent years chasing an indifferent Coulson until Coulson decided that he'd earned his chance and magnanimously deigned to enter a relationship. Clint let the gossips think that because Coulson didn't care and hey, it kind of made Clint look like a stud--so hot even the platonic ideal of professionalism couldn't hold out forever.

But it wasn't true. In reality, it went more like this:

 

Clint rolled out of bed and shuffled, eyes mostly closed, towards the bathroom. It was dark with the blinds drawn, but Clint didn't bother to put out a hand; he knew his apartment cold.

_Smack._

"Fuck!" Clint reached up to rub at his forehead and glared at the wall he'd run into. 

Unfortunately, this wasn't Clint's apartment. This was Stark Tower. Or, rather, Avengers Headquarters. Clint sighed and turned towards the actual bathroom. At least they each got their own suite of rooms. There was no way on God's green Earth he'd have agreed to live with six other people if he had to share the bathroom.

This was a lie. He'd been doomed from the moment that Tony had said, "...and there's more than seven suites, so every member of the team can have their own room with space for guests," and Coulson's momentary flash of confusion had given way to a small--very small--smile at the realization that he was the seventh person. Clint would do a lot more than move house to see Coulson smile.

Clint made it to the bathroom and fumbled his way through his routine, everything just slightly out of place from what he was used to. He was awake by the time he finished, which was good, because he'd have kicked his own ass if he hadn't been alert enough to fully appreciate the sight that greeted him when he walked into the kitchen.

Coulson was there. Wearing a t-shirt and a pair of plain blue pajama bottoms. That was it. No suit, no tie. Good God, _no shoes_. As if that wasn't enough--it was, it was more than enough--he wasn't sitting at the table to drink his coffee and read the paper. No, apparently he'd decided he'd prefer to stand. Or rather, _lean_. He had his forearms folded on the counter, which tilted his hips back, which...Well. The man had a fantastic ass. 

If you asked Clint later, he'd tell you that he said, "Hi," and sidled up to Coulson casually.

The sound that actually came out of his mouth was more like, "Hrgh." He stopped in his tracks and stared. 

Coulson turned a little to look over his shoulder at Clint. "Good morning," he said, shifting his weight. A smile curved Coulson's lips and his eyelids lowered. "Want anything?" he drawled, not straightening up. 

Clint blinked rapidly. "You are doing that _on purpose_!"

Coulson’s eyes crinkled around the edges. "Little slow on the uptake there, Clint."

Slow? Clint cast his back over the week they’d been living at the Tower. Okay, so maybe Coulson didn’t need to lean over quite so far when refreshing his coffee in the mornings, but Clint had been enjoying the view too much to think about it. Come to think of it, Coulson had been doing that with the coffee maker in his office even before they moved.

Clint resisted the urge to smack himself. "How long have I been missing this?" He walked over to Coulson--Phil--and took the coffee cup out of his hand. He set it down on the counter.

Phil stood up straight, but Clint stepped in close behind him before he could turn. "A few months," Phil said, amused but warm.

Clint put his hands on Phil's hips and brushed his lips against Phil's ear. "Looks like I've got some catching up to do."

"You're pretty far behind," Phil agreed. He stepped back against Clint, pressing his back to Clint's chest and his ass into his groin. 

Clint groaned, his dick swelling quickly from 'a little interested' to half mast. His hands tightened on Phil's hips. "Do you want me to fuck you, sir?" 

"Yes," Phil grated, and oh, apparently they were done playing now. Clint pulled him away from the counter and the abandoned coffee and paper and steered Phil back down the hallway and into Clint's room, because he wanted him here, in _his_ bed.

Clint almost regretted the necessity of stripping Phil out of his clothes, because seeing him dressed that casual was almost as good as seeing him naked. But only almost, on both counts, because Phil was flushed and reaching for Clint, and there was no poker face on him now, no mask of bland professionalism.

They knelt on the bed, arms sliding around each other, and Clint tilted his head and caught Phil's mouth for a kiss. Phil met him hungrily, his hand sliding up to cup the back of Clint's neck. Their tongues tangled slickly, drawing a groan from Clint. Phil's body was hot against his, enough that Clint started to sweat where they were touching. He wanted to pull back and lick his sweat off Phil's skin, to swallow down Phil's cock, to keep kissing him, to wrap a hand around the both of them together, God, he couldn't decide; he wanted it all.

Phil was the one who broke the kiss. "I'm pretty sure," he said, leaning his forehead against Clint's, "that you said something about fucking me."

Oh, yeah. That was a good plan. That was a great plan. "So I did," he said, and if he was a little breathless, well, Phil wasn't any better.

Clint let go of Phil long enough to lean over and retrieve condoms and lube from the bedside table. Then he cast a speculative eye over Phil. So many possible positions. After a moment, he sat with his back against the headboard and his legs stretched out in front of him. He patted his thigh. "Come on."

Phil raised an eyebrow, but he rested his hands on Clint's shoulders and swung a knee over his thighs so that he was straddling him. "You realize that if I'm the one doing the riding, you're the horse, right?"

Clint grinned as he opened the bottle of lube behind Phil's back and slicked up his fingers. "Believe me, I have no objections to being compared to a horse in this context."

"Maybe," Phil said, leaning in close, "I'm not talking about how you're hung. Maybe I'm talking about you being ridden hard and put away wet."

"Hmmm, just one problem with that theory." Clint stroked a finger over Phil's hole and watched, captivated, as his eyes half closed and his breath caught. "I'm not the one who's going to be wet."

Phil's only response was to moan, his hands tightening on Clint's shoulders as he pushed into Clint's touch. Velvet heat swallowed up Clint's fingers and it was all he could do to go slow, to twist and work his fingers inside Phil until his body started to relax around him. Lube spilled over Clint's hand every time he added more, dripped off the heel of his hand and over his thighs and onto the sheets. He was making a mess, but sometimes a mess was a good thing, sometimes a mess meant three fingers buried inside Phil, spreading him open for Clint's cock.

He didn't need to ask if Phil was ready for him. The moment he pulled his fingers free, Phil was moving, kneeling up, barely giving Clint time to roll the condom down over his cock. "Eager," Clint teased. 

Phil didn't rise to the bait, just shifted until Clint's cock was nudging his hole, stealing Clint's words away. He put his hands on Phil's hips instead of talking and guided him in a slow slide down, his eyes shut, his mouth open in a silent moan as he took Clint in.

It was all Clint could do not to thrust, to jerk his hips up off the bed and bury himself in the gloriously tight grip of Phil's body, but God, it was worth it for the satisfied hum and the smug little smile when Phil came to rest in his lap.

"You feel so good," Clint said, his voice gone rough.

"I'm not the only one," Phil replied. He shifted his weight and groaned deeply. "God, it's been way too long since I've done this." He shifted again and Clint decided to take that as a sign. He urged Phil up with his hands and relaxed his grip to let Phil sink down again at his own speed.

Phil's pace was torturously slow at first, but fuck, the way he closed his eyes and _savored_ it... "Can I assume," Clint asked, "that this is a long term end to the dry spell?"

Phil rose up again, pausing with Clint just barely held inside his body. "Well, I guess that depends," he said, laughter in his voice. He started to sink down, then rose up again after taking just a fraction of Clint. "We'll see how your performance review goes."

"Performance review, huh? Maybe I better check some boxes, here." Clint tightened his grip on Phil's hips. "How about 'Takes initiative'?" He pulled Phil firmly down into his lap, driving a cry of pleasure from him, and flipped them over, holding Phil close so that his back hit the bed without Clint's cock ever slipping free. "Do I get that one?" Clint rolled his hips and Phil moaned, back arching as Clint thrust into him.

"Yeah," Phil said breathlessly. "Five--" his breath hitched on another thrust "--out of five."

"That's good, but I've gotta be well rounded, right?" Clint set up steady, slow pace, and braced himself on his elbows so that he could lean down and nibble on Phil's throat. "Multitasking is a good skill to have," he murmured against freshly shaven skin.

"Very good," Phil agreed. He slid a hand up Clint's back and tangled it in his hair, tugging. Clint chuckled and let Phil guide him down, his thrusts shallowing as he curled his body so that he could reach Phil's nipples. The choked sounds Phil made when Clint brought his teeth to bear sent shivers through Clint. His hand kept clenching against Clint's scalp, delivering little shocks of pain that only underlined the sweet grip of Phil's body giving way to Clint's cock. "Multi-- Oh, god," Phil groaned. He pulled Clint off his nipple and drew him up into a long, deep kiss before taking a shuddering breath and pressing their foreheads together. "Multitasking is good," he managed, "but there's something to be said for thoroughness."

Clint kissed him again, hard and hungry, sliding his tongue into Phil's mouth and moaning when Phil met him, hands cupping his head holding him still for an endless moment. Clint's breath shuddered when he drew it in. "I can do thorough," he said hoarsely.

"Please," Phil breathed.

Clint groaned and darted in for one more kiss before before pulling out in one torturous glide and then thrusting in deep. Phil moaned, neck arching as he pressed his head back into the sheets, and Clint had to force himself not to just grind against him, promising himself more of Phil's moans. He got them, one with every long stroke of Clint's cock into Phil's body, Phil's voice deliciously throaty, eyes clenched shut and face wracked with pleasure. It was impossible to look away; Clint didn't even try, instead drank in the sight of Phil Coulson wrecked for him, _by him_. His moans grew sharper and shorter as he climbed toward orgasm and when he came the sound he made reached into Clint and broke him open, sent him tumbling into his own climax, sudden and startling.

Their muscles unwound slowly; they sank into the mattress together in increments, until finally Clint was sprawled half over Phil and half on the sheets. He was sticky with come and damp with sweat and he thought he might never move again, except that God, he wanted to do it all over again, soon. Speaking of which-- "So, how's my evaluation looking?" he mumbled into the curve of Phil's throat.

"Passed with flying colors," Phil says lazily. "But, you know, these things are annual. You have to keep in practice."

Clint chuckled and kissed the skin under his lips. "I can do that."


End file.
